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Tuesday, 31 March 2015

It’s two and a half years ago since I last wrote about using
smartphones in the hills in one of my most popular posts. Then my aim was to counter the arguments against
using smartphones and tablets as GPS units. The same arguments still surface
today and I think my piece is still valid. I’m not returning to that here
however but to the question of how appropriate such technology is in the hills
and whether it can be a distraction.I’ve
been thinking about this since reading a fascinating blog piece by author Alex
Roddie entitled Ditching the infinity machine– five months laterin which he describes swapping his smartphone for a
basic phone after becoming concerned that the former was spoiling his enjoyment
of the wilds. After this experiment Alex has returned to his smartphone but he
now uses it in a different way so it’s far less intrusive.

Most of my walking having been done before smartphones
existed (and much of it before mobile phones) the options for distraction from
the wilds came down to just one – a book. And I carried plenty, often several
at a time. Mostly I read in camp in the evening, especially when the weather
meant staying in my tent was wise, (and I sometimes left rather late in the morning because I spent too long reading over breakfast). But sometimes a book gripped me enough that
reading it became more important than where I was and I read while walking, my
mind far away from my surroundings. Often though I was reading because where I
was walking wasn’t that wild or interesting. I was still cut off from the world
around me though and probably missed much. Alex Roddie in his earlier piece on
smartphones describes the problem of battery failure with smartphones. Books
don’t run out of power. Instead they run out of words. I can remember hoarding
the last pages of a book, only reading a few at a time, because I was so
concerned about finishing it before I reached somewhere I could buy another.
Occasionally I’ve arrived in a town with finding books my main concern above food,
showers, resupply or somewhere to stay. I couldn’t imagine doing a long walk or
even an overnight trip without something to read. I still can’t but now I take
a Kindle loaded with dozens of books for the same weight as one small
paperback. Of course the Kindle can run out of power too but it’s not happened
yet, even when I’ve been out for a week at a time. In fact I’ve not yet needed
to recharge it from my back-up battery. And with the Kindle in a waterproof
case I can read in the rain, as I did on a crossing of the Coirrieyairick Pass
on a TGO Challenge walk. That’s the roughest terrain I’ve read myself across.
Some people go further. Hamish Brown describes reading a paperback along the
South Glen Shiel Ridge in Hamish’s
Mountain Walk.

Reading my way along a Mohave Desert road on the Pacific Crest Trail

Alex Roddie mentions using his smartphone as an e-reader,
saving the weight of a Kindle. I did this on the Pacific Northwest Trail, before
I had a Kindle, but found that it drained the battery too quickly. Given the
weights of back-up batteries I reckon it’s lighter to carry the Kindle. Reading
on a Kindle is a much more pleasant experience too as the screen is larger and
there’s no glare.

My main use of my smartphone – currently a mid-range Sony
Xperia SP, which does everything I need, is quite light (174 grams with
protective rear case) and is still small enough to be used comfortably for
actual phone calls – is for navigation with ViewRanger. Usually this just means
locating my position and maybe walking a short distance to check I’m going the
right way so the phone doesn’t need to be on all the time. A secondary use is
for photos that I can send to social media before I get home and can download
the images from my cameras onto the PC (I don’t have one of the latest cameras
that links easily to a smartphone). I also send texts to my partner sometimes
during a trip and always as soon as I’ve finished for the day. As I’m usually
in places where a phone signal is a rarity (still the case in much of the
Scottish Highlands) I’ll upload a photo or send a text and then put the phone
back in the pack still switched on, as long as I have enough power. Generally
at some point over the next few hours it’ll pick up enough of a signal to send
the text and, less often, the photo. I don’t have any notifications or sound
switched on so I don’t hear any bings or beeps and can forget about the phone.

In camp I rarely look at the phone except to locate exactly
where I am if I’ve camped after dark and am uncertain. The Kindle books and
writing in my journal are enough distractions if needed. If I've enough power and there's a connection I might check the weather forecast. Occasionally I'll listen to the radio. However on long walks
the phone always comes into use anytime I reach a town as then I can update
my blog, answer emails, check social media and even submit reports to The Great
Outdoors, something I did on both my Pacific Northwest Trail and Scottish
Watershed walks.

How communication technology is used in the hills is up to
the individual of course. There are no rights or wrongs. I see no reason not to
check emails and social media or even make phone calls if you find it satisfying
any more than I can see a reason not to read in the hills (and I have been told
at times that it’s ‘wrong’ to carry a book). The key is for you to control it and not the other way round. If it becomes intrusive
and you think it’s spoiling your enjoyment the answer is simple. Switch the
damn thing off!

Friday, 27 March 2015

Spring storms bringing rain and warmer winds had been eating
away at the snowpack for many days and winter seemed to be on the wane. Then
the weather changed. March is usually too early for the end of winter in the
Cairngorms and so it is this year. Waking to a heavy frost with the distant
mountains coming and going in swirling clouds I decided to go and see if the
promised overnight snow had fallen.

View across Coire Domhain (note snowholes) to Ben Macdui

I knew before I parked my car that it had. The clouds lifted
and broke as I drove up Strathspey, revealing mountains bright with fresh snow.
In Coire Cas the wind was strong and bitter. The climb warmed me up, especially
as the new snow was soft and in places deep where the wind had blown it into
big drifts. Underneath the old snow was hard and smooth and the rocks were
glazed with ice.

Trying to take a selfie while keeping off the spindrift

Reaching the Cairngorm Plateau the full force of the
southerly wind hit me, bringing clouds of spindrift, and I cowered behind a big
cairn while I donned more clothing. No sign of spring up here. The Plateau
stretching out to Ben Macdui was almost completely white. Across the green and
brown of Glen More Meall a’Bhuachaille was snow-capped again. I followed the
rim of the Northern Corries over Stob Coire an-t Sneachda and Cairn Lochan.
Climbers were at work on the frozen cliffs and I heard them calling above the
wind and the occasional crack of an ice axe.

Cairn Lochan

Clouds came and went along with flurries of spindrift,
casting shadows over the hills and changing the light constantly so the world
seemed fluid and mobile. Visually it was wonderful – ideal for photography.
Physically taking pictures was difficult though. Holding the camera still in
the wind, managing the controls with thick gloves on – my fingers quickly went
numb when I tried removing them, constantly wiping spindrift out of the lens.
Lying down was good for stability but there was almost constant spindrift at
ground level. Crouching or leaning on boulders were a good compromise.

Cairn Lochan

The wind chased me down the west shoulder of Cairn Lochan
and back across the mouths of the corries to Coire Cas. The streams were
running out of the corries but there were still solid snow bridges across them.
On the way home I paused at Loch Morlich to look back across the blue waters to
the shining white mountains. A few hours later clouds covered the summits and
have remained there since I returned home some thirty or so hours ago. Down
here it has rained. Up there I expect there is more snow.

Saturday, 21 March 2015

Deputy First Minister and local MSP John Swinney was presented with a painting of John Muir by the artist John Byrne

On March 20th I went down to the John Muir Trust's wonderful Wild Space Visitor Centre in Pitlochry to represent The Great Outdoors magazine. The occasion was a Civic Reception by Perth and Kinross council to mark two recent achievements for the JMT - winning the TGO Outdoor Campaigner of the Year Award 2014 and delivering the 100,000th John Muir Award in Scotland (which really is magnificent).

The reception was addressed by Perth and Kinross Provost Liz Grant and local MSP John Swinney (who is also Deputy First Minister and Cabinet Secretary for Finance, Employment and Sustainable Growth in the Scottish Government). Mr Swinney praised the role of the
Trust in standing up for wild places and getting people involved with
nature and said “I’ve
always been proud that the charity which looks after some of Scotland’s most
magnificent landscapes – not least Schiehallion in Perthshire – is
based in the heart of my own constituency.” I hope Mr Swinney relays these views to his government colleagues!

Liz
Grant said: “The John Muir Trust has a
long history of working in Perth and Kinross to raise awareness and help
protect our areas of outstanding
natural beauty. It is only right that their campaigning work has
achieved national recognition in this way. I
was in particular pleased to be able to acknowledge the efforts of the
Trust in supporting over 100,000 people to achieve a John Muir Award
certificate. This approach to engaging
people from across Scotland to take an active role in protecting their
nature and wide places is to be encouraged.”

Recently elected JMT Chair Peter Pearson also spoke, saying: “We
are
delighted that Provost Grant and Perth and Kinross Council have
honoured the John Muir Trust by hosting this Civic Reception. Although
we work across Scotland, England and Wales, we are proud of our long
association with Perthshire. We have owned and managed the magnificent
Munro,
Schiehallion, for the past 15 years, and have been based in Pitlochry
for more than a decade. Two years ago, we opened the Wild Space centre,
which has grown into a popular attraction for visitors and locals
alike.”

Other guests included local MP Pete Wishart, regional list MSPs Jayne
Baxter and Richard Simpson, and local councillor Kate Howie, as well
as representatives from
Education Scotland, Scottish Natural Heritage, and Scotland’s two
national park authorities.

Staff and students from Pitlochry High School also attended the event
to celebrate their commitment to the John Muir Award scheme, which
includes regular
active outdoor journeys and conservation volunteering
activities such as tree planting, footpath maintenance and building
nest boxes.

As the reception wound to an end I took the opportunity to have another look round Wild Space, which is always worth a visit. Browsing the book display I realised I already had most of them. Even so I found a book to buy - Mary Colwell's biography John Muir. And I already have many books on Muir, including three biographies!

Thanks to Alan McCombes, JMT's Media Manager, for the photograph of John Swinney, the details of attendees and quotes from the speeches. I didn't take notes myself!

Friday, 20 March 2015

Fifteen days after struggling over Meall a'Bhuachaille in a winter storm I was back again, this time with bushcraft instructor Paul Kirtley to record a podcast for his Blog. The weather was spring-like and we sat and looked at the view and recorded my words on the slopes where I'd been struggling to keep my feet as snow hammered down and the wind blasted me sideways. Across Ryvoan Pass the high Cairngorms, stripped of much snow, glowed under a bright sun.

The circuit of Meall a'Bhuachaille from Glen More usually takes two to three hours. On this occasion it took over twice that as we had a couple of long recording sessions. Not that we stopped talking the rest of the time as we both have a great passion for wild places, ski touring and wilderness travel and we found much to discuss, making for a day that was just as invigorating as the one in the storm though in a completely different way.

Paul says the podcast will probably appear sometime next month. I'll post a link when it does.

Thursday, 19 March 2015

Not having been to one of my favourite places in the
Cairngorms yet this year I decided to pay an overnight visit to Glen Feshie a
few days ago. My rough plan - amenable to alteration or abandonment due to the
weather, my mood or just a random whim – was to walk through the glen and camp
somewhere beyond the forest for a change (I love camping in the big old pines
but sometimes it’s more interesting to do something different) and then make a
way up onto the Moine Mhor plateau and cross this back to the lower glen, a
circuit that would make a long day but in this case would be split into an
evening and a day (the actual walking took ten hours in total).

The weather forecast wasn’t wonderful but it wasn’t terrible
either. No storms were predicted, nor was any sunshine. The tops should be
clear of cloud though and the only rain was meant to fall during the night (and
it did). As it was, due to various delays, it was only an hour before dusk when
I set off on a calm evening with an overcast sky. Dribbles of drizzle trickled
down on and off as I wandered up the glen, enough to occasionally have me
pulling up my windproof jacket hood but never enough to have me putting on my
waterproof jacket.

By the time I was entering the old pine woods around
Ruigh-aiteachan it was quite dark. The path was wide and firm though and I
could see well enough so my headlamp stayed in a pocket. The trees became
silhouettes, clumps of bushes dense blocks of blackness. An owl hooted softly
away in the trees. The only sound was the rush of the snowmelt swollen river.
The path began to narrow and climb as the always meandering river curved in
towards the bank. I pushed through invisible bushes, feeling them brushing my
clothes and pack. As the slopes eased I saw a red light off to the side and
then a faintly lit tent. I strode past, lifting my trekking poles without
thinking so they didn’t click on any stones. Although early the darkness and
quiet made it seem late and I felt I shouldn’t disturb the tent’s occupant.

A dark night in the tent

The path rose again onto steeper slopes and crossed some
washed out gullies. I was aware of steep slopes falling away to my left into
darkness with only the white-flecked tips of waves in the river showing that
anything lay below me. I kicked a large rock then tripped on a trailing root.
It was time for the headlamp. I switched it on and the world changed. The wide
beam illuminated trees and rocks in a circle of pale light outside of which all
was now solid black, the vague shadows and shapes of trees and rocks gone.

Walking on I left the forest for heathery flats fading into
distant slopes. I’ll camp soon I thought. A side stream rushed down to join the
Feshie. My light picked out a few trees along its banks and some steep rocky
slopes nearby. A flat area recently washed by snowmelt and flood invited a
camp. The waters were fairly low now. I didn’t think the area would flood
again. As I pitched the tent the drizzle finally turned into real rain. Perfect
timing, I thought, thought aware it was nothing to do with me. Inside the tent
lying half in my sleeping bag and with water heating on the stove I enjoyed
again the familiar pleasure of listening to the rain beating on thin nylon
walls whilst warm and comfortable inside.

So this is where I'm camped ......

Although I quickly worked out from the map that I was camped
by the Allt Coire Bhlair I didn’t know just what I’d see the next morning. That’s
one of the joys of camping in the dark, waking to a world you haven’t seen
before but which you are already immersed in. Dawn showed the site to be
delightful. The Allt Coire Bhlair poured out of a narrow rocky ravine with
little trees hanging on every tiny patch of earth then ran into the River
Feshie, itself racing between stony banks and overhanging trees. Steep heather
slopes rose to distant snowy tops. I stayed a few hours. It was too good a
place to rush off. A heavily laden backpacker came up the track – the camper I’d
passed the night before, I guessed – and waded straight through the shin deep
stream. I’d rock hopped the night before but I had trekking poles and he didn’t.
He came over for a brief chat and then vanished up the glen. I saw no-one else
all trip.

The Eidart Bridge

Finally moving on I followed the now moorland glen to the
River Eidart. Not much farther on the Feshie doubles back on itself and heads
into some really remote little-visited country. I hadn’t time to go there this
time. Continuing east I would come to a very narrow and shallow watershed (the
map shows no contours) and then the Geldie Burn. I didn’t go that way either.
Instead I turned north to follow the long River Eidart right into the heart of
the great Moine Mhor plateau. Guessing, rightly, there would be more snow on
the western side where the slopes were protected from the sun and the
south-westerly winds that had brought the big thaw a few days earlier I crossed
the narrow Eidart Bridge and made my way up the east bank. There’s no path but
the route-finding is easy – just follow the river. Gradually the moorland
slopes steepened and became more mountainous. The glen narrowed, more and more
snow appeared. High above big cornices rimmed the steep walls of Coire
Mharconaich. After nine kilometres the Eidart splits into two feeder streams.
One, the Allt Luineag runs down some five kilometres from high on the flanks of
Braeriach. The other, my stream today, the Allt Sgairnich, descends four
kilometres almost from the summit of Carn Ban Mor.

The upper River Eidart

Coming out of the lower narrow Allt Sgairnich glen I
suddenly found myself in the middle of the Moine Mhor, somewhere that from any
other direction requires crossing a large expanse of high ground. I knew I
would arrive here. It was still a shock. I didn’t feel as though I’d climbed up
here yet here I was. The weather was a surprise too. I’d assumed there would be
a wind once I left the protection of the deep glens. It was absolutely calm. A
thick grey cloud lay not far above, covering the summits of the highest hills,
Braeriach and Cairn Toul. Across the white expanse of the Moinr Mhor I could
see the hazy pointed summit of Sgor Gaoith. It didn’t seem quite real. The
whole place didn’t seem quite real. Standing still there was no sound. No wind,
no running water. Moving my boots crunched in the snow. Sweat trickled down my
back, down my arms. What is this weather, I wondered? I searched for a word. ‘Muggy’
appeared in my mind. Yes, it was muggy. No, part of my mind objected, it can’t
be. Muggy is for horribly humid hot summer nights not for a snow-covered
mountain plateau in March. But muggy it was.

Across the Moine Mhor to a hazy Sgor Gaoith

I crossed the snowy expanse towards Carn Ban Mor. The cloud
thickened. Visibility faded. A compass bearing was needed to find the start of
the path back down to Glen Feshie. On the edge of the plateau there was,
briefly, a breeze. I was back down at the car some 25 hours after I’d
left.I thought about the trip.
Enjoyable, yes. Interesting, yes. But also unusual.